


Kitten

by Bookah



Category: RWBY
Genre: Bumblebee - Freeform, Bumbleby - Freeform, F/F, RWBY - Freeform, Volume 2 (RWBY)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookah/pseuds/Bookah
Summary: Blake may have rested her body after the Beacon Dance, but the wounds within her soul run far deeper than a mere night off could ever heal. Can something provide her with the comfort her anguished heart needs, or will her doubts and self loathing ultimately crush her? Bumbleby one-off.





	Kitten

**Author's Note:**

> (Previously posted on another site.)

The view outside of the window was sunny and pleasant. Beacon Academy’s Athletic Center sat out there, bathed in the warm glow of a gentle afternoon. Beside the window a light breeze caused the leaves of a large tree to shimmer, making light and shadow dance and play amongst the branches. A bird rode on one of these, twittering away cheerfully.

Inside, Blake felt none of the warmth or cheer. Her eyes were turned toward the window, but she saw the view beyond it no more than she saw the seat she was sitting in. Her thoughts were turned to a world far beyond Beacon Academy’s campus. Somewhere, out there, things were moving. Things she had long thought she had escaped. That had been a foolish notion, thinking she had somehow gotten free, and that she now had a chance to breathe easy in a new life. No, she had deserved no such relief, and now her sins had caught up with her.

She sighed, stirring restlessly in the chair. Sleep had come easier to her for the first time in weeks. She’d gone to bed after the dance, after Yang had forcefully pointed out that she had been driving herself into uselessness and given her a chance to fix the damage she’d been doing to herself. She’d done what Yang had asked, and it had brought a temporary release from the pain and haze of a body unable to rest.

But now she’d returned to previous thoughts. Having more rest had brought her no closer to a solution. If anything, it had simply made it even more clear just how bad things had gotten, and how little everyone else understood what she was fighting against.

Oh, she would fight, it. Fight the sense of hopelessness and inadequacy at being up to the task. Fight to remain strong and resilient. And she would fail. She knew that she would. Even rested, her mind kept going in loops, and kept coming back to the same thing. Every time she followed it, tried to reason why the White Fang would work with someone like Torchwick she came face to face with…

She jerked her thoughts away from that path yet again. She didn’t need to think about that, about him. She’d worked up the courage to confront him once. She couldn’t do it a second time. She’d been in the pit he’d created for her, that they had created together, once. Thinking on it would only toss her back in a second time, and she didn’t have the strength to climb out again.

Perhaps she should never have climbed out that first time, but should have remained and fought. Instead she’d done what she always did. She turned her back, and she ran. Just as her thoughts did every time she remembered what she’d been part of, and what had been her role as his…

Her mind desperately turned and fled from the memories once again.

Coward.

Behind her, the door opened. She heard it close, heard footsteps. From the corner of her eye she saw two yellow objects fly over to land on the bed that sat precariously above her own. Ember Celica, Yang’s weapons, she recognized. Which meant that the one who had entered was…

Muscular arms wrapped around her from behind. She could feel someone settle behind her, a pressure of soft flesh pushing into her shoulders above the top of the chair’s back. A soft voice whispered in her ear.

“Hey. You doing alright?”

Blake sighed. “I’m fine, Yang.”

The arms tightened a little. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Yes, Yang.” Blake shrugged. She wanted to throw off the arms and wallow in the misery she so richly deserved, but she was too tired, too sick inside to bother. Instead she lay her head back, feeling it come to rest against Yang’s shoulder. 

A small wisp of surprise washed through her. Leaning her head back felt unexpectedly comfortable. Yang’s powerful arms around her, that shoulder her head rested against, they felt warm. Though a mass of muscle, Yang’s arms were somehow gentle. Even the whirl of loathing her mind spun within eased a bit. Somehow, something about Yang’s presence was soothing.

Blake sighed, and her eyes closed. For some strange reason she felt… 

Safe.

Yang’s voice was soft as the girl continued to speak. “Thank you for the dance last night. I enjoyed it.” Warm lips touched Blake’s cheek.

Blake’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t move. She felt her skin begin to color.

“Ooh. Kitty liked that.”

Blake pitched her voice to be as withering as possible. “Don’t call me kitty.”

An amused laugh came from behind her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be irritated by it. She just sighed and let the warmth of the girl behind her continue to soak in. She was a bit too comfortable to really care about Yang’s teasing.

After a moment she felt a curious, fluttering warmth on her ear. It took her a moment to realize that Yang was gently nibbling her ear with her lips. She almost objected, but then she realized that… Well… It felt good. There was a certain mesmerizing something in the gentle tugging, the warmth of exhaled breath tickling the lobe of her ear. Somehow it lulled her, made her sink deeper into the comfort of the arms around her. She could relax like this. She could fall asleep to such a thing, knowing that she was safe, that someone cared, that everything was okay…

She stood up abruptly, pulling herself away from Yang’s arms to stare out the window, the chair a frail barrier between them.

“Blake?”

Blake crossed her arms, not daring to look at the blond haired girl behind her.

“Blake, did I… Did I do something I shouldn’t have?”

“No, Yang, I… It’s not that you shouldn’t have. It’s just that… I just…” She looked down to her crossed arms, opening a hand to reveal every stain and impurity her poor life choices had permanently marked her with.

_ I don’t deserve to be safe and protected. _

All the things she had done. All the wrongs she had committed. She had stolen. Destroyed. She had become a terrorist, attacking, wounding, and yes, even occasionally killing people simply because they had worked for the wrong man. She had lost herself to the vision of a madman, allowed herself to be seduced to his way of thinking.

Oh, not just to his way of thinking. She shuddered as the unwelcome memories welled up. She’d fought so hard not to remember, but now old nightmares flooded her without any chance for her to avoid them. She recalled touches that had stung, caresses that had been far from comforting. Sweet nothings had been whispered, holding half hidden threats, and then less than hidden. There had been nights that should have been pleasurable, but weren’t.

She’d chosen that. She’d allowed it, even thought she wanted it. And so she had become a degraded thing, damaged goods by her own choice. Guilty of so many wrongs, including the ones she had done to herself. And she’d deserved it all.

“I’m not worth it.”

She heard Yang sigh. “Worth what?”

She turned, not quite facing Yang. “Worth… this.” One arm came out of the protective embrace she hid herself within to wave vaguely.

“Worth loving?”

Blake closed her eyes. “I don’t think I even know what love is.”

Yang padded over to their bunk and sat gently on the corner of Blake’s mattress. She seemed to fidget in an uncharacteristic way for a moment, then turned her eyes to the floor.

“Love is worrying about someone, because you know they are hurt. It’s trying to be there for them, be someone they can rely on and trust, even when it seems like they don’t want that. It’s being willing to take a risk that you may lose them by trying to make them realize when they need to get some rest. Love is…” Yang turned her lavender eyes back to Blake. “Love is trying to hold them and make the pain go away, no matter how much they think they deserve the pain.”

“Yang, I…”

“Look, Blake.” Yang rose from the corner of the bed. “I know someone hurt you. I know it was pretty bad. You’ve closed yourself off, trying to never be hurt again, and thinking you didn’t deserve anything better.”

“But I…”

“No.” Yang shook her head, then sighed. “I know I can’t actually take away the pain. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to. Because no matter what the nagging little voice in the back of your head is saying, you don’t deserve to hurt. What you deserve is to be cared for and loved, and I wish you believed that just as much as I do. She turned and started walking toward the door. “Anyway, sorry for getting carried away there.”

Before she quite realized what she was doing, Blake caught up to Yang and snagged her arm. She tugged the blonde girl around to face her.

“Yang, stop.” She gripped Yang’s captured arm tightly. “I…” She swallowed, hesitant. For a moment she thought, unsure what to say, then stepped in and placed her lips to Yang’s.

She felt Yang stiffen for a moment, then felt the girl lean into the kiss, pushing Blake’s head back and down ever so slightly. Strong arms came up to wrap around her, pulling her in tighter. The fear and anger and loathing hunkered down, suddenly threatened by a strange hunger and eagerness that suffused her, a return of the peace and comfort of before, and perhaps the introduction of something more.

As if in response, her body gave the tiniest of shivers, and a warmth began to fill her belly.

_ Traitor _ , a dark part of her mind accused her body, as her heart began beating a bit harder in response. She jerked that voice up hard, desperate to not lose the little thrill the kiss was bringing her.

Yang broke the kiss, loosening her grip and leaning away to carefully lock purple eyes with Blake’s gold. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?"

Blake felt a brief hesitation, that dark voice stirring to object. She fiercely rejected it, wrapping her arms around Yang. She pressed her cheek to Yang’s shoulder, unable to maintain Yang’s stare. “Just shut up and… and make me believe.”

The arms around her tightened once again, and Yang’s lips pressed to her cheek. Though Yang was only slightly taller, Blake’s vulnerable clinging was enough for those lips to climb, a gentle trace of warmth and the lightest of breaths caressing her temple, and then her forehead. Blake’s head tilted a bit, turning so that Yang could continue along the path, and those kisses began following the line where her hair began above her forehead.

One of Yang’s hands slid up along Blake’s spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps beneath her top. The places Yang touched tingled, a thousand tiny needles piercing into the blackness that always left her muscles aching with stress. That hand on her back promised things to her. Safety. Gentility. Affection. All things she thought she could never feel from another again. 

_ Lies _ , a voice whispered in her head.

_ Yang has never lied to me _ , she thought back. _ Yang. Has never. Lied. _

As Yang’s hand stroked up to tangle into Blake’s long black hair the faunist woman shivered. Even as her dark, twisted self loathing fought to remind her of how little she deserved to feel pleasure at the touch of another, Yang’s fingers awoke within her a sense of anticipation. Yang’s entangling fingers sought, and to her surprise, Blake found herself longing to provide.

Without quite realizing it, she tilted her head back into those fingers, letting Yang cradle the back of her head. Still unwilling to meet Yang’s eyes, she kept her own closed. As if to compensate, her lips parted slightly, and she felt a shivering breath escape between them.

Warm, soft lips pressed to her mouth as Yang’s hand pulled her head back and down. Her body and mind struggled against the movement briefly, but then came a moment of trust she had no longer believed herself capable of feeling. She wrapped her arms around Yang’s back and yielded to the pressure dipping her backward, her weight lifting from her feet to leave her bent backward, hanging within Yang’s arms. Lips pressed to hers in a deep, passionate kiss.

They remained poised like that as an eternity passed. It was an unending moment free of nightmares, of hateful voices, of self doubt and loathing, Warmth washed over her, and a world that was full of hate, anger, and pain melted away, replaced by the feeling of total trust in the person holding her in strong arms.

Their lips parted at last, leaving Blake feeling breathless and weak. She was leaning far, far back in Yang’s arms, her heart hammering in her chest. She clung to Yang, pulling her chest tight against Yang’s much larger bust out of a foolish fear that her legs would fail her at any moment, and a desire for that intimate lack of distance between them physically and, yes, emotionally as well.

“There,” Yang whispered, her voice a mixture of amused laugh and husky desire. “Was that convincing enough for you?”

Blake felt the warmth in her belly spreading at the sound of Yang’s voice. “Yang…” she gasped, not quite trusting her own voice. “I…” She opened her eyes, and felt her mouth fall open, words failing her at the sight of red eyes gazing deeply into her own. She dangled beneath Yang’s still bent over form, staring, before she shook herself enough to speak. “Yang, your eyes…”

Yang gave a helpless sort of smile. “I need you,” the blonde whispered. “I’ve never needed someone as much as I need you. It’s like a wildfire, out of control. When I look at you, I burn.”

Blakes eyes began to sting. “God, Yang. That was so cheesy…” She let go of Yang with one arm so that she could wipe away the moisture suddenly gathering at the corner of one eye.

Yang had the grace to look repentant. She straightened back up, allowing Blake to settle her weight back onto her own two feet and regain her balance. Yang’s red eyes began to dull back towards purple. “Sorry,” she muttered.

Blake smiled, and wiped away another tear. “No, don’t be.” She reached up and caught Yang’s face between her hands. She pressed a fast kiss to Yang’s lips. “I’m convinced.”

“Really?” Yang’s eyes were wide with surprise. The expression was so different from Yang’s usual confidence Blake found herself having to smother a giggle.

One last poisoned doubt caught her. There were still so many reasons why she didn’t deserve Yang’s desire, or the happiness that welled up within her at the sight of Yang’s red eyes promising a passion for Blake just as powerful as the brawler’s anger towards those who’d bested her. So many reasons why things could go wrong remained, and Blake remembered just how badly Yang could be hurt if she got too close. But against that were Blake’s dancing thoughts of what had she had just been feeling…

Yang had swept her off her feet in more ways than just the physical with that kiss. Even after being set back upright, Blake could feel how hard her heart was thumping, and feel that not quite queasy fluttering in her belly. The taste of Yang’s cinnamon lipbalm was a distraction from the doubts trying to reclaim her, a reminder and a promise that what had happened, what could still happen, was very real. 

These sensations were the least of what was happening to her. She could feel a growing heat rising up from below where her stomach caged a kaleidoscope of butterflies, and she felt a tightness and dampness come upon her. She felt her body physically demand further affirmations of Yang’s intensity.

For the briefest moment she felt the urge to flee strike like a madness. Some wild, desperate part of herself had been shocked to the core by the realization of how her body was responding to Yang’s provocations. Some wounded creature urged flight, before Yang’s predatory desires could open Blake up to being wounded further, and just as intimately as before.

But then the warmth climbing through her overwhelmed that brief bit of insanity, replacing it with something just as primitive, but far more welcome. Something in her mind answered that madness, and that physical want. It was a growling, hungry thing within her that would have left her tail twitching, had she’d received one along with the ears hidden beneath her ribbon.

_ I want this. I NEED this. _

The self destructive parts within her quailed and hid, unwilling to dare deny her.

She stepped back from Yang, putting a small distance between them. Deft fingers flitted up to her bosom and undid the silver button of her black vest. In the space of a single heartbeat she’d tossed the garment aside, then pulled the white undershirt that had beneath it off with a liquid motion. Already erect nipples hardened painfully as they felt the direct touch of air, and she stepped back away from Yang until she felt the mattress of her bed against her calves.

She smiled a challenge to her partner, and felt her body surrender completely to the heat and anticipation as Yang’s eyes began glowing red once more. She licked her lips and propped one hand on a carefully cocked hip. With the other she traced a finger around one of those excited nubs Yang was staring at with naked desire. “Really, Yang.”

Yang’s lips quirked into a hungry grin, and she gave a salacious growl. The blonde fighter stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Blake, then spun to sweep them both onto the bed. “C’mere, pussycat.”

Blake grinned, and her fingers began working at Yang’s jacket as the woman knelt on all fours above her. “I told you not to call me pussycat.”

“So make me stop,” Yang dared.

Flipping the jacket open, Blake swept her hands beneath Yang’s yellow crop top to grasp what hung within it. “Fine,” she smirked. “I will.”

Her lips met Yang’s once more, this time with a fiery need of her own.

  
  


“Um, Weiss…”

Blake squeezed her eyes tight at the sound of Ruby attempting to whisper quietly. The dark haired girl was one of her best friends, but the girl’s utter irrepressibility was a curse when others were sleeping. She couldn’t have spoken quietly to save her life.

“Weiss! They’re sleeping!”

“Of course they are.” Weiss, as usual, sounded exasperated. “In my room!”

“It’s all our room,” Ruby stage whispered. “At least they aren’t in your bed.”

Blake struggled to decide if she needed to clear the soft, gentle cobwebs from her head long enough to tell them to shut up and let her sleep, or just ignore them. She hadn’t felt this deeply comfortable in ages, and she was highly reluctant to sacrifice that just to find out what Weiss was annoyed by this time.

“No,” Weiss said. “They are both in Blake’s bed.” There was a pause. “And I think they’re naked.”

“Naked?” Ruby squeaked.

Both? Naked?

Blake snapped fully awake, all cobwebs gone. Both. Naked. And well and thoroughly used. And so comfortable. So safe. So happy…

She’d fallen into what had to be the deepest post-coital sleep she’d ever experienced, too content to even think about the fact that she and Yang shared the room with two additional people, that those two people would, eventually, be back to the room, and that, upon doing so, they would discover…

She felt an arm wrapped around her from behind, one hand affectionately clasped onto her breast. A leg squeezed between her own, bare thigh silky smooth against bare thighs.She felt something tickle her nose and realized that Yang’s hair had fallen over both their faces as the stronger girl spooned up against her lithe feline-like companion. Patches of warmth and cool on her skin told her that the blankets were well and truly tangled, leaving parts of the two of them covered and other parts not.

She twitched in embarrassment and began trying to disentangle herself from Yang and the sheets.

Yang’s hand squeezed, and Blake felt a shiver of pleasure in spite of the awkwardness of the situation. Yang’s head wiggled a bit, and then the blonde woman’s voice growled huskily from just behind Blake’s pointed black cat’s ear.

“Tell my sister and her partner to quiet down. Some of us are trying to sleep right now.”

“But…” Weiss objected, though she sounded more surprised than actually argumentative.

Yang’s arms tightened around Blake, and the blonde woman molded herself to Blake’s back with fierce determination. “Mine, Weiss,” she growled. “Find your own snugglebunny. Maybe Coco will let you borrow Velvet.”

“Velvet is rather cute,” Ruby murmured.

Despite herself Blake giggled.

“Oh, whatever.” The usual exasperation was back in Weiss’ voice, the heiress clearly having recovered from her surprise at Yang’s forceful declaration. “Have it your way. I’m going to take a shower.” The woman stomped off towards the bathroom.

“Weiss? Weiss! Wait up Weiss!” A second set of footsteps set off after the first.

Blake sighed, and she began trying to untangle herself once more. “Maybe we should…”

“Nope.” Yang cut her off with a squeeze of her breast and a tightening of her arm around Blake’s waist. A kiss landed between Blake’s shoulder blades. “I love you, Blake Belladonna, and I am NOT letting you go.” Yang nuzzled Blake’s hair.

Blake sighed happily at the feel of the lips on her back. She wiggled in closer, snuggling deeply into her lover’s arms, feeling safe and secure for the first time in ages. “I suppose another hour couldn’t hurt.”

“That’s my kitten,” Yang muttered, clearly already falling back to sleep.

“Yes.” She placed her own hand over the hand Yang was using to cup her breast. “I suppose I am.” She smiled, and drifted off to sleep again.

**Author's Note:**

> I am, of course, a big fan of RWBY. Monty and Roosterteeth have created a shockingly deep and complicated story, with the perfect mix of hope and despair intermingled for a person like me. The more I learn about them, the more the characters not just fascinate me, but become people I feel deeply invested in. Thank you, Monty. You are missed. And thank you Roosterteeth, for keeping Monty's vision alive.
> 
> Of all the characters in RWBY, Blake is the one that fascinates me the most. It's not that the other characters are not deep, intriguing people in their own right. They absolutely are. It's simply that the struggles Blake faces off with are so much more familiar to me. They are struggles I deal with myself.
> 
> So much of the fanbase post-season 3 focus on the topic of Yang and PTSD. I understand why the connection is being made. During the Fall of Beacon only one character suffered worse injuries than Yang, and those injuries killed Pyrrha. The loss of her arm has a huge impact on her, not just physically, but mentally, and we as a society have been trained to automatically assume such a terrible event will produce PTSD.
> 
> However, as an individual who has lived with PTSD for more than ten years now, I can assure you that Yang doesn't have PTSD. Not yet, at least. She certainly has shown signs of PTS (Post Combat Stress), but that is very normal. The flashback she had at home, the depression, the emotional control issues all are very normal while adjusting to such an injury, and such circumstances. However, it is also normal for them to fade out over time. The individual so impacted won't be the same after. We change all the time, and under less arduous pressures. But they do go back to a general sense of normal. Ordinarily.
> 
> It is only when the aftermath doesn't go away after a reasonable amount of time that something is actually wrong. If you still suffer from the depression, the trust issues, the avoidance behavior, nightmares, etc. a year later, that's when it is actually a problem. It is that which is the actual experience of PTSD.
> 
> That's not to say she doesn't have issues. Her shaking post combat is definitely a sign of Combat Stress Reaction, and is something to be concerned about. But when you look go looking for PTSD, you won't find it with Yang. Yang's behavior in Vol. 4 is normal, even expected. And when you see how she is acting by the end of the season, and her actions in the early episodes of Vol. 5 someone who knows PTSD knows she doesn't have it.
> 
> Blake, on the other hand...
> 
> Blake is textbook. And that is, I think, why she was the first character to truly resonate with me, and who continues to be the character I care about the most. As early as Season 1 Episode 2 (her first non-trailer appearance) someone who knows PTSD can see it. While others are checking people out at the slumber party and making connections, she's withdrawn from the world, hiding behind a book. As the season progresses she is the most reserved. She talks seldom. Shares little. Her mood is bleak enough for it to be commented on. Frequently. By season 2 we are seeing all of the signs of depression, self loathing, guilt, avoidance that are telltales. Just listen to her talk about her semblance and belief even her aura is good for nothing by running away... She's PTSD.
> 
> This story was written specifically as a reaction to that connection between her and I. Her doubts, fears, issues of guilt, feeling that not only does she not deserve to be loved, but in fact should suffer for her sins, right or wrong, are things I understand all too well. As is that desperate need to believe that someone is willing to try anyway, to be there. I suppose one could almost consider this story to be a little love not to myself, telling me that no matter how I feel on any given day, I really do deserve a Yang, and that it's okay to let someone love me in the way I can't love myself.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed, and thank you for reading.


End file.
